Disclaimer: Characters belong to Julian Fellowes, Carnival Films, ITV, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Spoilers: The first season, with particular attention paid to the events of Episode 7.
Summary: My mother always said that the sign of a true lady was that she kept her emotions at bay during trying times.

Dr. Clarkson stood motionless at the foot of the bed, his medical bag in hand. "I will return later this evening, Your Ladyship."

I watch Mary stand, nodding her head deeply. Her mouth is moving as she extends her hand to the door, but a low hum replaces the sound of her voice. I lean back slightly, the plump pillows giving way. Don't worry. O'Brien has me wrapped in silk and feathers. A shudder rises in my throat and I close my eyes, my eldest daughter and the doctor fading away.

My mother always said that the sign of a true lady was that she kept her emotions at bay during trying times. The dear woman probably didn't have the benefit of whatever drug Dr. Clarkson injected me with when she made that declaration.

The heavy blankets lay over me like a coffin lid, sealing in all that would make one decidedly un-lady like. A pit of emptiness churns within me, a testament to how glorious everything was just a short time ago. The way Robert looked at me when he took my hand, reassuring me he was pleased. The way he held me to him, my name a sigh on his lips. The way I allowed myself to think, to pray, to hope the entail could finally be damned, once and for all.

Yet, nothing is ever as easy as we would like. Never easy.

Certainly, Mary was an easy child to birth, something that strikes me as contrary to the willful woman she became. And, Robert was nothing but delighted when she was presented to him for the first time. No sign of disappointment, not even a flicker. Instead, he stared into the newborn's perfect face, his lips parted in awe.

I didn't realize I loved him until that moment.

Then came the announcement of a second baby. The news of another baby was joyously received, rivaling the beauty of the spring bloom. He took my hand, bringing it to his lips as he watched me with upturned eyes. A cheerful grin seemed permanently imprinted on his face as he lowered my hand, squeezing it gently as he whispered, "Perhaps it will be a boy this time."

I allowed myself to agree with him, desperately wanting to give him the son he wanted, one who would put any lingering whispers about the entail to rest. How fervently I prayed for a son that summer, imagining a dark haired boy impishly exploring the grounds. And, may God forgive me, how I cried when Dr. Clarkson pronounced the new child was a healthy baby girl.

Robert was no less in awe of Edith than he was of her elder sister. Certainly, he was less nervous with her. But, if he was disappointed with another daughter, he never showed it, neither in words nor actions. Instead, he promised that he was pleased, happy with a daughter of peaches and cream instead of a son.

When a third baby was announced, he didn't suggest it would be a boy.

Neither did I.

Yet, what did he say when the third child was indeed a girl? He held Sybil, a rosy and bright newborn who sleepily blinked her green eyes at him. "There isn't a man more blessed than I. Three lovely roses, all in a row."

The years passed slowly, the daughters indeed blooming into the roses their father predicted. But there were no more babies, no more talk of a son, not from either of us. From time to time, the Dowager Countess or Lady Rosamund would graciously pass along news of Lady Millicent, a one-time favorite of Robert's and now the mother of five healthy sons. Robert was always quick to change the subject, nodding with a discreet smile as he found my eyes from across the room.

And now, after all these years, a lost hope reawakened for a brief shining moment. A second chance. The birth of a son. Finally. But nothing lasts forever. Nothing is easy. Things change in a moment and, usually, when one least expects.

My head goes back as my eyes flutter, darkness creeping into my vision. I wanted him too much. For Robert and for Mary. The child's existence would have relieved so much pressure for all of us. But, it was an obscene amount of responsibility to place on a child that hadn't even been born yet.

Mary comes back quietly, sitting beside the bed. She's watching me with worried eyes, ones that so resemble her father's. The corner of her lip is caught between her teeth and I know that she's considering how this loss will affect her. Let's not pretend this isn't the answer to every one of our prayers. It's clear that she still hasn't decided what to do about Matthew.

Matthew.

A dull ache disturbs the emptiness and I moan, turning my face away from my daughter. How I resented that young man when he first arrived. The way Robert took to him, eagerly showing him the house and the grounds. Teaching him how to be the 7th Earl of Grantham. Mary had said what only festered within me: Matthew was the son my husband always wanted. The son I could never give him. The son I would never be able to give him. Now, he remains the heir presumptive and my eldest daughter's fiancé.

Maybe.

I open my eyes, the pale blue of the wall greeting me. Robert always sleeps on my left, every night. I always keep the bed made up in the dressing room, so at least I pretend we sleep apart. How nervous he was when he first suggested we share a bed. How relieved I was when he finally did. It was that deliriously wonderful time after Mary, but before Edith, when we realized we loved each other. Colors felt richer, the air warmer. He may have wanted my father's money in the beginning, but in the end, all he wanted was me.

He once asked if he made me happy. I never had the courage to ask the same of him. If I was the wife he had hoped for. If he regretted choosing me over Lady Millicent and the sons she could have blessed him with.

The door to his dressing room creaks open and suddenly he's there, a shadow on the edge of my vision. Mary's chair scrapes against the floor as she stands, her silk dress whispering as she crosses the room. Their conversation is hushed and I sigh tiredly, my eyes heavy. Dr. Clarkson's drug is finally taking effect and at the moment when I least want it to.

A door closes again and a moment later, I feel him reach for my hand. I look up slowly as I turn my face to him, gently shaking my head. "I'm sorry," I whisper, his hand trembling against mine.

He shakes his head, sinking to the chair. "Cora," he sighs, bringing my hand to his lips. "Dear Cora." I blink, closing my eyes for a long moment. When I open them again, he's watching me carefully, his eyes sparkling. "It's no one's fault," he says and I can hear the tightness in his voice.

I shake my head again, desperate to know before I succumb to the drug. "Have- Have I-" But my question fades away, the words dissolving into one and other as he caresses my hand.

"The doctor will be back later. Just rest, Darling." My head is heavy and I squeeze his hand, finally getting his attention. He frowns, worry replacing his sorrow. "Are you in pain? Shall I call O'Brien?"

My hand slips from his as he reaches for my face, cupping it gently. He looks at me with such love, such tenderness that it suddenly seems silly to give voice to my fears. Just as there's no one else I could belong to, there's no one else for him. He's never forsaken me. He's my heart, capturing it entirely, through good and bad. With a tired smile, I murmur the only truth as I know it: "I love you."

And, as if it were the first time he's heard it, Robert smiles. "I love you, Cora," he replies, leaning in. His lips are warm against my forehead, the last thing I feel before I surrender to the warm darkness.

THE END